


you were the moon

by bespokenboy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, College AU, Fluff, Ghosts, M/M, Mark has like two moms and three dads, Mentioned Character Death, Underage Drinking, party boy jaehyun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9172327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bespokenboy/pseuds/bespokenboy
Summary: Up until Halloween, Chittaphon's biggest worry was trying to salvage his friendship with his roommate and childhood best friend Mark. But then he received a strange request from a married man named Youngho.





	1. projectile motion

When daylight crept through the blinds hanging crookedly on the window frame, Chittaphon realized he had made a terrible mistake. There was just enough light to bathe the room in an amber glow, allowing Chittaphon to discern through a pounding headache and bleary vision that he was in someone else’s room, on someone else’s bed.

 _Fuck, not again_ , he thought.

The night before was a black stretch of time in Chittaphon’s memory. Something happened, something that shouldn’t have, but the memories eluded him. Lost forever, irrecoverable. 

Chittaphon moved his arms experimentally, as though making sure they were still there. He reached out and one of his hands knocked over a glass bottle on the nightstand. His other hand landed on someone’s face.

“Good morning to you too,” a voice murmured. 

It was Jaehyun, a guy a year younger than Chittaphon who was stupidly tall and had stupidly good looking hair. He considered Jaehyun less a friend and more someone he partied with, someone who had the habit of bringing out the worst in him. Jaehyun always seemed a little too interested in Chittaphon, which wouldn’t have been a problem if he wasn’t openly gay, a fact that Chittaphon couldn’t ignore as much as he wanted to. 

Chittaphon snatched his hand away from Jaehyun’s face and sat up so quickly his vision swam with stars. 

“Dude, did we….?” he began to ask, his voice rising in panic.

“Assuage your mammary glands,” Jaehyun said. His eyes were still closed, his voice low and crackly around the edges. “We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, thank god,” Chittaphon sighed, slumping back into the bed again. 

“You don’t have to sound so relieved.”

Chittaphon ignored him and reached out for the glass bottle on the nightstand, pleased to find that it still had a few sips of what looked like whiskey. The last thing Chittaphon needed after a blackout was more alcohol in his bloodstream, but he swished the amber liquid around in his mouth and swallowed. He felt it travel down his chest and liked the burn it left behind. 

“No offense, sweetheart, but if I ever bang a guy, it sure as hell won’t be you,” Chittaphon said. “Besides, I’m not even your type. Don’t you always say that you’re exclusively a top or something?”

Jaehyun grinned for the first time since being woken up by a slap to the face.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve never seen a straight boy that’s more of a bottom than you.”

Chittaphon would have rolled his eyes if it didn’t hurt so much just to keep them open. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and shakily tried to get up to his feet.

“Got brunch plans or something?” Jaehyun asked, still sprawled out on the mattress. “Why the hurry to leave?”

“Yeah, I got brunch plans, don’t you?” Chittaphon shot back as he kicked around the room looking for his jacket. 

Chittaphon hid his fear and uneasiness under a string of curses. He was still shaken by the fact that he had woken up in Jaehyun’s bed, despite Jaehyun’s promise that they hadn’t done anything. Chittaphon had no recollection of how he wound up there, but more likely than not, it involved a night of squandering his liver health. 

And then it hit him, why Chittaphon felt especially shitty this morning. It wasn’t just nausea churning in his stomach, it was guilt.

“Shit,” Chittaphon hissed under his breath. “Fuck me.”

“Ten?” Jaehyun said, using the nickname Chittaphon always gave out so people wouldn’t butcher his name too badly. “You good?”

“I have to go apologize to him,” Chittaphon said, mostly to himself.

“To who?”

“Mark, my roommate. We were supposed to hang out last night, but I totally forgot and went to a party instead. He must have waited for me all night.”

“Since when do you have a roommate? You always liked living by yourself so you could invite girls over whenever you want.”

“He just started college this year,” Chittaphon said, grimacing because he still couldn’t find his damn jacket. “His parents wanted him to move into my apartment so Mark could live with someone who’d be a good influence on him.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jaehyun burst out laughing. “Since when are you a good influence?”

Chittaphon finally found his jacket in the corner of the room. The fabric was imbued with the thick scent of alcohol, but he tossed it on even though it reeked of inebriation.

“Fuck you,” he said over his shoulder as he left Jaehyun’s bedroom.

“Love you too, baby,” Jaehyun called out after him.

Blustery late autumn winds buffeted Chittaphon from all directions when he stepped outside. He broke into a sprint, each footfall hitting the sidewalk with a noisy slap. He bowed his head against the wind, which whipped his black hair around in every direction. 

Chittaphon remembered with precise pain the look of disappointment on Mark’s face the last time he forgot about their plans together—something that's happened more times than Chittaphon would like to admit. And it's the same every time. 

The corner of Mark’s mouth would press down for just a moment before melting into a warm smile that Chittaphon didn’t deserve. Mark would always forgive him sincerely, which just made Chittaphon feel even worse. 

Chittaphon skidded to a halt outside their apartment and smoothed his hair with his fingertips. He could hear noises from the other side of the door as his key clicked against the lock, which meant that he could still apologize to Mark. He could still watch _Halloweentown_ or _Hocus Pocus_ or whatever stupid Disney movie Mark wanted to watch together the night before.

But when the door swung open, it wasn't Mark. It was someone Chittaphon had never seen before, a young man who somehow managed to look down on Chittaphon despite being shorter than him. 

“Who are you?” the guy asked, frowning at Chittaphon. 

“Are you kidding me? I live here!” 

Chittaphon stared in disbelief at this stranger who had the gall to demand Chittaphon’s identity and block his way into his own home. 

“Ahh, Donghyuck, that's my roommate,” Mark said, suddenly appearing over Donghyuck’s shoulder. “Sorry, Ten-hyung, I should have warned you that I had a friend over. I wasn't expecting you to come back so early.”

It was almost noon, but Chittaphon didn't exactly have a perfect track record when it came to operating at normal human hours. Mark’s observation made Chittaphon feel even more ashamed. 

The look of suspicion didn't leave Donghyuck’s face even when Chittaphon trundled past him to dig through the fridge for something to fill his stomach. 

“Since when do you have a roommate?” Donghyuck asked, not caring that Chittaphon was perfectly within earshot. 

Mark laughed, a little uneasy sounding, as he ran his fingers through his hair. Chittaphon couldn't remember when that hair-touching habit started—or even whether it started with Mark or with him—but it had become a tell-tale sign of nervousness for both of them. 

“Ten-hyung just usually isn't around when you come over, I guess,” Mark said. 

Whether or not Mark felt neglected, he didn’t let it show. Then again, Mark always managed to smile even if he felt hurt or disappointed. That’s just how Mark was. Chittaphon, on the other hand, could never hide his feelings even if he tried. 

“So, are you busy today, Mark?” Chittaphon asked, trying to keep his voice offhanded. “If you’re not, then maybe we could watch a movie together or something.”

“We’re going antiquing,” Donghyuck answered for Mark. 

“Oh.”

Chittaphon’s face fell. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what antiquing even was, but it was clear enough that Mark had made other plans without him. It was stupid of him to expect Mark to always be available for him. Not to mention completely unfair for Chittaphon to even be upset.

Mark noticed the shift in Chittaphon’s expression, like he always did, and he apologized, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t know you’d want to hang out today.” 

Chittaphon forced a smile just so that Mark wouldn't worry. “It's fine. Next time though, okay?”

“Next time,” Mark agreed with a grin. 

“Come _on_ ,” Donghyuck whined. “We’ll miss the next bus downtown if you take any longer.”

“Alright, alright, just let me get my shoes.”

“It always takes so _long_ for you to get ready. The Dow Jones has gone down almost a hundred points since I came here to pick you up.”

Mark paused in the middle of tying his shoelaces and turned to Chittaphon to ask, “Do you know what that means?”

Chittaphon shrugged and Mark laughed, “Me neither. See you later, hyung!”

And just like that, Mark was gone and their lively apartment was silent again. Chittaphon let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his chest.

He absentmindedly wondered how Mark ended up as friends with someone like Donghyuck, whose noisy personality appeared the complete opposite of Mark’s. Not that it was difficult for Mark to make friends, but it always worried Chittaphon when Mark befriended people with strong personalities. Mark always gave and gave, without asking for anything in return. It was the best and the most worrisome thing about him. 

Maybe Chittaphon was just being overprotective of him, but he had the urge to keep an eye on Donghyuck, just to make sure he wouldn't trample all over Mark. Maybe Donghyuck’s hostility towards Chittaphon was a sign that he felt the same way. He inspired a fierce loyalty in his friends because he was easy to adore, but also easy to take advantage of. 

Not long after Mark left, there was a knock on the door. It was Jaehyun. Chittaphon was too surprised to feel annoyed at having to look at Jaehyun’s face again. It wasn’t often that he encountered Jaehyun during daylight hours.

Jaehyun was looking over his shoulder when Chittaphon opened the door for him. 

“Was one of those guys your roommate?” he asked, his eyes tracking Mark and Donghyuck’s retreating forms down the street. 

“Yeah.”

“The preppy looking one?”

Chittaphon wrinkled his nose. “No way. That’s Mark’s friend, Donghyuck.”

Mark wouldn’t be caught dead in the bow tie and corduroy pants combo that Donghyuck seemed to own in every color combination imaginable.

“ _That’s_ Mark?” Jaehyun asked incredulously.

“Yeah. You coming in or what?”

Jaehyun followed Chittaphon into his two-bedroom apartment and helped himself to the refrigerator like it was the hundredth time he’d been there, not the second or third.

“Did you run out of food at your own place or something?” Chittaphon frowned. 

Ignoring the question, Jaehyun said, “I think I’ve seen him around. What’s Mark studying?”

“Mechanical engineering,” Chittaphon answered. 

He watched Jaehyun pour himself a glass of chocolate milk and tear open a bag of salt and vinegar chips. Jaehyun was just going straight for Mark’s favorite snacks. 

“Oh!” Jaehyun exclaimed with wide eyes. “No wonder he looked so familiar, we’re in the same program.”

Sometimes Chittaphon forgot that Jaehyun was at college for reasons other than partying. 

“You should give me his number,” Jaehyun continued. “In case he ever wants help with any of his classes. I remember my first year of Mech E was a bitch.”

“Sure,” Chittaphon said sarcastically. “I’ll hand over my roommate’s phone number to a weird guy he’s never met before.”

Giving Mark’s number to Jaehyun felt like offering a baby lamb to a lion. Jaehyun would eat Mark whole.

“Fine, how about you give my number to Mark, and he can contact me if he feels like it,” Jaehyun conceded. “How’d you end up as friends with him anyways?”

As much as Chittaphon hated telling Jaehyun anything when he got nosy, he loved talking about Mark. Ultimately, the impulse to gush about Mark won over his reticence. 

He told Jaehyun about how he and Mark had been friends ever since they moved into the same neighborhood in middle school, how Mark was good at everything and wanted to be a writer but eventually studied engineering like his parents. Chittaphon also told Jaehyun about how Mark was the nicest kid he had ever met, how Mark’s younger brother Jeno adored him so much that he cried when Mark left for college. 

“He’s my other half,” Chittaphon finished quietly. Not that he ran out of things to say, but he suddenly felt self-conscious about how much he still wanted to talk about Mark.

Jaehyun stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Your other half?”

Heat crawled up Chittaphon’s neck when he realized he was being teased. It was cheesy, but Mark always called Chittaphon his other half, his soulmate. Despite how popular Mark was and how many other people wanted to be friends with him, somehow Chittaphon managed to carve out a place for himself in Mark’s heart. 

The worst part was, Mark always looked up to him when they were growing up together, but lately Chittaphon hadn’t given him anything to look up to. And if Mark noticed that Chittaphon had changed since starting college, he never mentioned anything. 

“You like Mark, don’t you?” Jaehyun asked neutrally.

“What do you mean? Of course I like him, he’s—I mean, he _was_ my best friend.”

“You couldn’t stop smiling or blushing when you were talking about him.”

Chittaphon’s hand automatically moved to cover his mouth, but Jaehyun caught his wrist.

“It’s cute,” Jaehyun said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a dimpled smirk. “You look like a different person when you’re smiling. You don’t look as scary.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

It was meant to be a joke, but Jaehyun studied him with an appraising look that made Chittaphon feel naked and exposed. 

“You’re not my type,” Jaehyun decided.

Chittaphon felt almost relieved until Jaehyun said, “But your roommate, on the other hand….”

“No way,” Chittaphon said vehemently. “He’s not even—”

He trailed away, unsure of how to finish the sentence. 

“He’s not even what? Gay?” 

“I don’t know,” Chittaphon mumbled. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?” Jaehyun asked, terribly intrigued by the way Chittaphon seemed even more flustered by the topic. “Mark being gay, or the thought that Mark might like a guy that isn’t you?”

Chittaphon hated that his involuntary physical reaction—the blushing, squirming, the inability to meet Jaehyun’s eyes—was enough of an answer for Jaehyun. 

“It’s nothing like that,” Chittaphon snapped, but that didn’t wipe the knowing grin off Jaehyun’s face. “Anyways, did you come here to steal my food and harass me, or was there a real reason that you’re here?”

“Oh! Almost forgot, you left your ID card at my place. Must have slipped out of your pocket in your rush to leave my bed. Came to give it back to you.”

“Thanks.”

Chittaphon always forgot that despite being an asshole, Jaehyun was actually a really nice guy. Or maybe it was that Jaehyun just really liked to tease Chittaphon. 

Jaehyun tore off the edge of an old flyer on the kitchen table and jotted down his phone number on it. 

“Here,” he said handing the scrap of paper to Chittaphon. “Can you give this to Mark?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Chittaphon answered vaguely. 

Jaehyun left, and Chittaphon stuffed the scrap into his pocket without thinking about it. 

  
  
  
  


There were plenty of quiet places on campus for Chittaphon to study without interruption, but those places creeped him out. Instead, Chittaphon liked to bring his laptop to cafes and public places with comfortable ambience and background noise. 

One of those places was Pomegranate Seed, a new cafe that Chittaphon liked for its hot chocolate and free wifi. Many students brought their laptops to do work in Pomegranate’s comfortable lounge chairs, so Chittaphon never felt awkward staying in the cafe for long stretches of time without ordering anything. 

Usually, hiding behind his MacBook screen was enough of a signal for people around Chittaphon that he was busy with work. But today, a shadow fell across his screen, and Chittaphon looked up to see a man with sharp features and a small face. 

“Can I help you?” Chittaphon asked hesitantly. 

“Hi, I'm Doyoung.” 

The man extended a hand, his flinty expression unchanging, and Chittaphon took it with a little bit of embarrassment. Not since the first few weeks of freshman year had anyone introduced themselves with such unselfconscious forwardness. 

“Chittaphon,” he said, releasing Doyoung’s cool, slim hand. 

“Are you busy this Friday?” Doyoung asked with a completely straight face. 

“W-what?” 

“Sorry. Let me explain. My fraternity has a formal this Friday, and my girlfriend just dumped me, so I have to find a date who’s hotter than her.” 

“That's….that’s a lot of information,” Chittaphon said, subconsciously leaning away from Doyoung’s powerful gaze. “Um. Thanks, I guess?” 

Doyoung pursed his lips impatiently and cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Sorry, I have to think about it,” Chittaphon said automatically. Thinking quickly, he reached into his pocket for a crumpled piece of paper and gave it to Doyoung. “Here.”

Doyoung’s expressive eyebrows seemed to do half his communicating—they lifted in graceful twin arcs when he glanced at the numbers scrawled on the paper. “Thank you.”

Whether or not he really believed that it was Chittaphon’s phone number, Doyoung gave the impression for the first time that he was capable of taking no for an answer. He pushed the chair back under the table and left with a gesture of goodbye without turning around to look at Chittaphon. 

It took Chittaphon a few moments to recover from the surrealness of the encounter, the second time a guy has hit on him within the span of a day. It didn't fill Chittaphon with the distinct kind of discomfort he would have expected—the kind of panic Chittaphon felt that moment when he woke up in Jaehyun’s bed. 

Instead, Chittaphon’s main worry was that there was another guy he should keep away from Mark. He couldn’t imagine the thought of Doyoung stepping all over Mark. 

Chittaphon returned home later that afternoon, and his stomach did a little flip when he saw Mark poring over a textbook at the kitchen table. The way Mark’s face lit up when he noticed him made Chittaphon feel warm down to his toes. Mark reminded Chittaphon of the puppy he had in elementary school who scurried to the front door every time he came home. Chittaphon loved that puppy. 

“Welcome home, hyung!” Mark said brightly. 

“How was, um….”

“Antiquing?” Donghyuck supplied from the sofa in the living room, and Chittaphon finally noticed that he was there with a textbook in his own lap.

“Yeah. Did you guys get anything?”

“A few vinyls, nothing especially rare or unusual,” Donghyuck answered. “But it was a largely mediocre trip if you ask me. The antiques market in this city is nothing special.”

Mark said, almost shyly, “I got you something, Ten-hyung.”

He picked up a large oblong case painted black from under the kitchen table. The paint was scuffed and ancient-looking, but ornate with peeling golden embellishments. It looked like it must have been expensive a long time ago. Mark unfastened the tarnished metal clasps, and the lid sprang open to reveal a violin inside.

Chittaphon’s heart felt like it might swell so big it could shatter his rib cage. 

“Do you play the violin, Ten?” Donghyuck asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Chittaphon said, but he was too choked up to manage anything else. 

He had played the violin since elementary school, but when his first college tuition bill came up to a few more thousand dollars than he could manage at the time, Chittaphon had no choice but to sell his violin. He had chosen a path of study away from music, so it wasn’t like he _needed_ his violin. Selling it still felt like losing a family member though. 

This violin came nowhere close to Chittaphon’s old one in terms of looks. Where Chittaphon’s violin was bright and immaculate in finish, this violin had a dull, discolored cast. But still, Chittaphon was overjoyed just to pick up the familiar weight and shape in his hands. There was also a bow inside the case, so Chittaphon positioned the instrument on his shoulder and played a single note with a confident stroke. 

“Hey that doesn’t sound bad!” Mark exclaimed.

Chittaphon played a few more notes, which turned into a scale, and then he played a few lines from a piece still ingrained in his muscle memory. He was astonished by how smoothly and effortlessly the bow hairs slid across the violin strings, which looked like they were probably made of real animal guts rather than synthetic or steel. 

The tactile feeling of playing the violin was as satisfying as sinking a hot knife into butter, and the actual sound of it was better than expected, to say the least. It had a rich, centered tone with silvery overtones like frosting. The violin looked old, but it played like a Stradivarius disguised in shoe polish.

He put the violin back in its case and saw Mark’s awed expression and Donghyuck’s look of begrudging admiration. 

“You're amazing, hyung!” Mark said, clapping his hands in delight. 

“Thank you,” Chittaphon said, with some difficulty. He hoped that Mark understood everything he was thanking him for. From Mark’s bright grin, it seemed like he knew.

Chittaphon ran a fingertip along the wooden body of the violin with one last wanting touch, and then he closed the lid. He finally found enough voice to say, “You didn’t have to get this for me.”

Mark’s smile faltered and he asked, “Do you not like it, hyung?”

“No, it’s not that, but….How much did this cost you?”

“He didn’t pay for it,” Donghyuck cut in, earning a frown from Mark. “The old lady at the music shop gave it to him.”

“That was nice of her,” Chittaphon said. His face betrayed his bewilderment, and Mark noticed.

“She was one of those weird fortune teller ladies, I think,” Mark said. “She said that the violin belonged with me, or something. Even though I told her I didn’t know how to play violin.”

“She said that it was haunted, and Mark was its true owner,” Donghyuck added. “But you don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

Mark shook his head, but he looked anxiously at Chittaphon as if hoping that he wouldn’t mind.

“That’s a fun story,” Chittaphon said, and he saw the relief in Mark’s shoulders. “Thanks for giving the violin to me. I’ll treasure it well.”

Chittaphon reached up to ruffle Mark’s hair and suddenly became aware that he had to stand on his tiptoes to do so. Even in high school, he was taller than Mark. When did Mark grow so much to become taller than him? 

Mark’s hair was thick and soft to the touch, and Chittaphon forced himself to not slide his fingertips through the silky smoothness of Mark’s hair. He barely managed to prevent his touch from turning into a caress.

Meanwhile, Donghyuck had whipped out his laptop and was trying to connect to the campus wifi network. 

“We’re too far from the school, I can’t connect,” he whined. “How do you guys get wifi around here?”

“Here, let me help you,” Mark said. He turned away from Chittaphon, and it was like a spell was broken. 

Chittaphon automatically reached up to touch his own hair, but he stopped halfway and stuffed his hand into his pocket instead. 

“Your wifi network is the police station one?” Donghyuck asked.

“My dad said that we should always name our wifi network after the local police station to keep hackers away,” Chittaphon explained.

“Does it work?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think we’ve been hacked yet.”

“Well, if it was a really good hacker, you wouldn’t even know if you’d been hacked, right?”

“Donghyuck, don’t you have homework to do?” Mark asked with the sound of someone who had been long-suffering at the hands of Donghyuck. They had only met a couple months ago, but they seemed to be quite close already. If “close” was the right word for it. 

Donghyuck hadn't done anything to especially endear himself to Chittaphon, but for some reason Chittaphon found himself becoming more tolerant of Donghyuck’s ceaseless chatter and inquisitiveness. Fond would be an overstatement at this point though. 

It was rare for Chittaphon and Mark to both be at their apartment for an extended period of time during the day, so it was nice to be together, even if Mark was working on a problem set and Chittaphon had to read Julius Caesar. Having Donghyuck there wasn't as annoying as Chittaphon thought it would be, either. 

Eventually, Donghyuck left to print something in the library and Chittaphon finished reading the last scene of act five. He looked over at Mark, whose arms were crossed on top of his textbook, with his head resting in the crook of an elbow. Mark’s eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. 

Words like _angelic_ and _irresistible_ floated to the forefront of Chittaphon’s consciousness. As if he could feel Chittaphon watching him, Mark’s eyelashes fluttered and his bright, sparkling black eyes looked up at Chittaphon from beneath a thicket of black hair. 

“Huh? Did I fall asleep?” Mark mumbled. He lifted his head to stretch his neck by rotating it from one side to the other, and Chittaphon noticed a pink wrinkly patch of skin where Mark’s sleeve imprinted against his cheek. 

“Yeah,” Chittaphon laughed. “You drooled all over your textbook too.”

“No way!” Mark yelped and looked down at the page he fell asleep on. “Oh thank god, I thought you were serious.”

“Should have seen your face,” Chittaphon teased. “How’s your homework going though?” 

Mark rubbed his hands against his face and groaned, “I’ve been working on it for five hours, but I still have a couple pages left. I need to take a break from this problem set. Or maybe find some new friends who are good at physics.”

“I can help you out with one of those things,” Chittaphon said, and then he remembered Jaehyun. Though he was wary of the possibility of Jaehyun flirting with Mark, he wanted to help him out in any way that he could. “Actually, both of those things. Let me give you my friend’s number.”

He entered Jaehyun’s contact information into Mark’s phone, with Mark’s promise that he would tell Chittaphon if Jaehyun ever gave him any trouble. 

“Do you think he’d be willing to help me with my homework?” Mark asked.

“Yeah. He’d be thrilled, actually.”

“Awesome! I’ll text him tomorrow. What do you want to do tonight, hyung?”

“I’m not sure, it’s too early to go out anywhere. Is there anything you wanted to do?”

Mark shrugged and grinned at him. “Anything’s fine with me as long as it’s with you.”

This made Chittaphon’s insides twist in all kinds of funny ways, especially since Mark smiled like he meant it genuinely, without any kind of irony or self-consciousness. 

“I really wanted to play the violin you gave me some more,” Chittaphon admitted apologetically. “If it doesn’t sound like fun for you, I understand, and we could find something else to do.”

“I’d love that! It’s been so long since I’ve listened to you play violin, hyung.”

“Really?” Chittaphon asked, almost unable to believe that Mark would want to give up precious time on a weekend to listen to him play violin. Except he _could_ believe it, because it was Mark, and Mark would go out of his way to do anything for almost anyone. “Should we go find a practice room?”

“Actually, I know somewhere better.”

They crossed the street dividing the on- and off-campus buildings, and their senses were offended by a rotten sweet stench seeping from the sewers. 

Mark buried his nose with his sleeve and said, “Something must have died down there.”

“My hopes and dreams,” Chittaphon deadpanned.

“What?”

“What?”

Chittaphon heard Mark’s giggle, bubbly and infectious, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He followed as Mark led the way to a corner of campus that Chittaphon rarely passed through, where many of the science and engineering buildings were located. Their walk was mostly desolate under the ominous, overcast sky, but as Mark and Chittaphon laughed and joked with each other like there had never been a lull in their friendship, Chittaphon felt like he had never seen a gray sky so full of color.

“Here we are!” Mark said, stopping in front of an old building that Chittaphon had never been inside before—he’d never had a reason to.

It was the old chemistry building, which had been abandoned in recent years for a newer building with glass walls and natural lighting and the most cutting-edge equipment in its laboratory. The building was locked since it was the weekend, but Mark swiped his ID card at the entrance and the door clicked open. 

“What’s that?” Chittaphon asked as they passed a shiny metal instrument on display in a glass case in the hallway.

“Death ray?”

“I don’t think it’s working. I’m standing right in front of it, and I’m not dead yet.”

Mark laughed and said, “My best guess is that it’s an old mass spectrometer. People don’t really use those anymore, but it’s pretty cool if you know how it works.”

“I think I’m good, thanks.”

At the end of the hallway, Mark opened a door that revealed a grandiose lecture hall that felt starkly out of place in the dilapidated building. Chittaphon stood in the doorway for a few seconds, taking it all in—the domed ceiling supported by marble columns, arches above large windows, and elegant dentil molding lining the perimeter of the vast space. It could have passed for a concert hall, if it wasn’t for the desks built into the rows and rows of chairs arranged in tidy arcs. 

Despite how vast and gorgeous the lecture hall was, it looked largely unused. Either that, or it had been immaculately preserved. 

“Not many people know about this place,” Mark said. “The architecture is amazing, but the reverb is awful. Or awesome, depending on how you look at it.”

“What do you mean?” Chittaphon asked as he followed Mark to the front of the lecture hall, where there was a narrow stage at the center. It was just the right size for teaching, especially with its large chalkboard backdrops, but the stage was noticeably too small for concerts to be held.

“The echos make it impossible for anyone to understand what the speaker is saying during a lecture,” Mark explained. “Architectural acoustics hadn’t been invented yet, so they didn’t realize that all these domes and arches made this place useless as a lecture hall. It’s pretty much just been collecting dust for the past hundred years or so. Which is a shame, because it would have made an awesome concert hall.”

Mark settled into a chair in the first row, and Chittaphon laid his violin case on the stage. Every little noise he made, every click and tap, seemed to be amplified. Somehow, the room even magnified the absence of noise. Chittaphon noticed this at the same moment he realized he was holding his breath. The atmosphere would have been spooky, if Mark hadn’t been sitting there with an encouraging smile on his face. 

Chittaphon understood what Mark meant when he said that the room would have made an incredible concert hall, because as soon as he began tuning his violin, he felt like he was standing on the chandelier-lit stage of the Boston Symphony Hall, rather than a musty old lecture room. The sound of his instrument lingered and expanded before absorbing into the walls. 

“This place is amazing,” Chittaphon said. “Do you come here a lot?”

“I’m glad you like it! I come here occasionally, when I feel like being alone. I study here too sometimes, but my phone doesn’t get a signal here—it’s a dead zone.”

“Well, thank you for inviting me here. I promise I’ll keep it a secret.”

“I’m no good at music, so it feels good to share this place with someone who is.”

“Is there anything you want me to play for you?”

“Whatever you want. I’ll try not to fall asleep this time,” Mark said with an impish grin. 

Chittaphon settled onto his chin rest and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of old wood and resin. He should have been unnerved by the way his hands moved naturally like his skill was still at its peak, nevermind that he hadn’t touched an instrument for more than two years. The music possessed him, swallowed him, and his hands almost felt like they weren’t his own. 

A force he didn’t recognize made his fingers move with unnatural grace, but Chittaphon was too enraptured by the act of creating music to notice his uncanny facility more than peripherally. He played the violin and forgot about himself. He played until the skin on his fingertips were raw and tender and his wrists and joints were stiff and achy. 

He paused, his chest heaving with exertion, just long enough to notice the look on Mark’s face. He wasn’t looking at Chittaphon; his gaze was fixed at some point just below Chittaphon’s feet. Chittaphon couldn’t interpret Mark’s strange expression. He wasn’t quite worried or frightened, but somewhere between bothered and distracted. And it took him a few seconds to notice that Chittaphon had stopped playing, like his mind had to catch up from somewhere else. 

Mark met Chittaphon’s eyes and smiled, and it was like the odd moment of silence had never happened, a brief limbo that vanished from existence when it expired. 

Chittaphon didn’t want to let it slide. “Are you okay? What are you thinking about?”

“Huh? Oh sorry I wasn't….” There was a moment where Chittaphon could see on Mark’s face that he wanted to pretend like nothing happened. 

Chittaphon jumped down from the stage and sat in the seat next to Mark’s. He propped an elbow up on the desk and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching Mark intently and batting his eyelashes a little. The corner of Mark’s mouth quirked up, and he gave a tiny sigh. Just a little exhale. 

“My dad was a musician, you know,” Mark said. He smoothed his hair away from his forehead and then let his bangs fall back in place with a little shake of his head. Chittaphon could tell he was nervous, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. He was professional. Played in an orchestra and everything.”

“Is he still playing? Or is he too busy with his job as an engineer?”

Mark shook his head. “My adoptive parents are engineers. My real dad was a musician.”

It was like the world was shifting around Chittaphon, as though he was in a dream that was close enough to reality for him to believe it was real life, but just different enough for it to feel surreal. Mark had told him something monumental, and suddenly Chittaphon didn’t know what to do with it.

“You’re adopted?” Chittaphon asked, because he didn’t know what else to say. Because he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah. My dad died when I was really young, so I don’t remember much about him. But just now….for some reason, you reminded me of him.”

Chittaphon didn’t know what to say to that, either. “What about your mom? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind talking about it. I just don’t know that much about my biological parents. Everything was kind of….complicated. But I think my birth mom left me with my dad after I was born.”

Instinctively, Chittaphon wanted to say sorry, but somehow it didn’t feel like it was the right thing to say. He didn’t even know who he would be apologizing to. 

“What about Jeno?” Chittaphon asked. “Is he adopted too?”

Mark shook his head. “Jeno’s parents adopted me when he was already a couple years old. But they raised me like one of their own, so I’ve always thought of them as my real parents and Jeno as my real brother.”

It still felt surreal to Chittaphon, finding out so much about Mark all at once. It was almost as if Chittaphon was just meeting him for the first time. There were still so many things he wanted to know.

“What about your name? Did your birth parents give you the name Mark?”

“My birth dad named me Mark, but he called me by my middle name Minhyung. He was the only one who ever called me that though. And then after I moved in with Jeno’s family, my last name got changed to Lee.”

Chittaphon nodded, and they were both silent for a few moments. His gaze drifted over to a clock on the wall that must have been dead for years, but it prompted him to check his phone for the time. 

“It’s getting late,” Chittaphon said. “Want to head back?” 

“We should. I think I heard thunder outside.”

It was kind of incredible that neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella despite the foreboding dark sky and ominous weather forecast. But this was how it was any time Mark and Chittaphon decided to do things together—not exactly well thought-out or planned. It drove some of their other friends crazy.

Mark at least had enough foresight to take his jacket off and wrap it around Chittaphon’s violin case. The case was so old and weathered that it could have been made of cardboard, like any amount of moisture would make it disintegrate into pieces. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” Chittaphon said as Mark stuffed his phone deep into his pocket as a last-ditch attempt to keep it dry.

“Not if we run fast!”

Mark barrelled into the pouring rain with a cheer of delight as thunder and lightning crackled and rumbled around them. Chittaphon hesitated for a moment, and then he ran out into the storm after him. He clutched the violin case tightly to his chest, shielding it from the rain as well as he could. 

It was the best kind of rain. It drenched them, it made them feel fearless and alive. They raced one another, and they laughed and shouted at each other, and the sounds were absorbed by the sky. 

They were dripping from every inch of their bodies by the time they returned to the apartment. Water leaked from their shoes and plastered their clothes to their skin. Mark was visibly trembling, and his teeth were chattering noisily, so Chittaphon urged him to shower first.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting,” Mark said, even though he couldn’t stop shivering. His skin was pale, but his cheeks were flushed red from the cold. Like roses and cream.

“Just hurry up and go,” Chittaphon said, pretending to be annoyed.

Chittaphon ordered food while Mark was in the shower, knowing what Mark would have wanted without even having to ask. The food arrived by the time Chittaphon was finished with his own shower, clean and dry.

It was too treacherous to go out that night, so they ate chicken and beer and watched _Hocus Pocus_ even though it was past Halloween already. Watching a Halloween movie in November felt a little like eating chocolate past its expiration date, but it’s not like that ever stopped them either.

Chittaphon was drowsy after eating. It became harder for him to keep his eyes open and his head upright, so he let his head loll over and drop onto Mark’s shoulder. Mark went still for a moment, and then Chittaphon felt Mark’s hand on his own. Mark held his hand gently, not like he wanted to wake Chittaphon up, more like he just wanted to touch him. 

Again, Chittaphon felt a strange shifting of the world as he knew it, but this time it felt like it was shifting into place. Not back into its original place, but at a new equilibrium where everything felt right again. 

The thunderstorm hadn’t ebbed even a little bit by the time the movie was over. Chittaphon’s neck was achy from holding it at an odd angle, but he didn’t want to move. Every inhale he took filled his lungs with the scent of Mark’s bare neck. He didn’t know what cologne Mark wore, but he would bottle it up and sell the scent for fifty bucks a bottle if he could. 

Maybe his feelings for Mark were becoming more complicated, but in the moment Chittaphon felt like being next to Mark was the most simple thing in the world. 

“Hyung, wake up,” Mark said softly. “The movie ended.”

Chittaphon groaned and made a fuss of standing up and stretching. The room felt cold without Mark’s warm body pressed up against him. He was slowly trudging towards the kitchen when a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the entire apartment, and then all the lights went out. 

“Hyung?” Mark called out in the darkness. “Hyung, are you alright?”

The lights flickered back on, and Mark found Chittaphon on the kitchen floor, staring at the door to their apartment with wide, horrified eyes. He rushed to Chittaphon’s side.

“Are you hurt, hyung? Should I call an ambulance?” Mark asked worriedly.

Chittaphon blinked a few times, and then he looked at Mark. He smiled, like he was returning to himself. “Sorry, I just… I thought I saw a ghost or something. I know it’s stupid, it was probably just the lightning.”

“Did you hit your head?” Mark asked, but he wasn’t teasing Chittaphon or trying to be mean. He was genuinely concerned about Chittaphon’s safety.

Chittaphon shook his head and smiled again just to prove he was okay. But his voice broke when he said, “I’m fine. I just got a little….scared.”

“It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay,” Mark assured him, and he held Chittaphon’s head to his chest as Chittaphon wrapped his arms around Mark’s torso. 

Even though he was younger, he held Chittaphon and tried to comfort him. As he stroked Chittaphon’s hair and whispered that everything would be alright, Mark was shaking too. 


	2. ring cycle

The morning sun chased away any lingering fears of the night before. It seemed silly in the sober light of day that Chittaphon had been so afraid. Of what, a flash of lightning? 

All day Chittaphon couldn’t stop thinking about Mark, and he hated himself for it. He still couldn’t believe how happy it made him to risk pneumonia by running through the pouring rain with Mark. But it made him unbelievably happy, happier than he had felt in a long time. And the best part of all, he had never felt so close to Mark in years. It was like he had his best friend back.

They had their own world, with their own jokes, and any time anything remotely amusing happened, Chittaphon couldn’t wait to tell Mark about it. When they told each other jokes, Chittaphon didn’t even have to finish his sentence before Mark started laughing, because he already knew where it was going. They shared one mind and one heart, two halves of the same whole.

Being friends with Mark was more satisfying than any relationship Chittaphon had ever been in. And suddenly he could understand what people meant when they said that there was nothing better than being in love with your best friend. Not that Chittaphon was anywhere near thinking of what he felt towards Mark as something as intimidating as love with a capital L.

But sometimes Chittaphon caught himself wondering what it would be like to press his lips to Mark’s cheek like they used to when they were still kids, and kisses were innocent affection. It could still be like that, now. Or maybe Chittaphon was just thinking too much again. He could easily get himself into a stupid funk again if he kept this up.

His thoughts about Mark were eclipsed unsparingly when Chittaphon received a phone call from an unfamiliar number. The area code was local, which meant that it might have been a classmate, or a friend with a new phone. He picked up the call without thinking twice.

”Hey, what's up?”

Silence, and then a voice unfamiliar to Chittaphon. “Is this Chitt–”

”Ten, yeah,” Chittaphon said before the man on the other end of the line had a chance to mess up his name. “Who is this?”

Another pause. “My name is Youngho. I need your help.”

“Okay, hold up, _how_ exactly did you get my number?” Chittaphon asked because he couldn't recall ever meeting anyone named Youngho. 

“Someone who knows you very well gave me your contact information.”

A prickle of unease danced along Chittaphon’s skin. “And what do you want from me?” he whispered, wondering if he should just hang up already. 

“I need your help to speak to my husband.” He added desperately, “Please.”

“Wait, like marriage counseling?” Chittaphon asked, with the urge to almost laugh.

“Yes. In a way.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m probably not the best person to ask for relationship advice.” The list of people more qualified than Chittaphon was endless. Even Mark would be of better help.

“I’ll pay you,” Youngho said. “I don’t know why, but I was told it has to be you.”

That changed things. The money part, of course. It was still a little creepy and unsettling that this man managed to find Chittaphon in the first place. He didn’t even want to think about who might be out there, handing Chittaphon’s number to strangers. Instead he thought about how much therapists charged for their services. Chittaphon could buy a nice present for Mark. 

“I’ll think about it,” Chittaphon said. When there was a moment of silence in his earpiece, he said, “Okay, I’ll help you. When do you want to meet?”

“Would tonight be too early?”

“Wow, it’s that bad, huh? Got a pen and paper? I’ll give you my address.”

He told Youngho his address, and they both hung up. Chittaphon wondered if he was making a mistake.

Nothing especially unusual happened for the rest of the day, besides maybe Chittaphon submitting an essay a full eight hours before its deadline. He pushed Youngho to the back of his mind and managed to even forget about him until Mark returned home that evening.

“Hey, hyung, you busy tonight?” Mark asked with a hopeful smile.

“Oh, um, I actually have someone coming over tonight, so I hope you don’t mind….” 

If Chittaphon hadn’t been paying such close attention, he might not have even noticed the way Mark’s smile deflated just a little bit.

Chittaphon winced, realizing how bad it sounded. But he couldn’t tell Mark the truth, he at least knew enough to understand that this was a meeting meant to be discreet. Besides, he wouldn’t even know how to explain it to Mark even if he could tell him. 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll stay at Donghyuck’s place tonight! He’s invited me over a few times, and he’s even got an air mattress.”

“Thanks Mark, you’re the best.”

  
  
  
  


Chittaphon wasn’t as nervous as he should have been. He was inviting a complete stranger over, and Chittaphon wasn’t even sure how Youngho found his information. But for some reason, that didn’t matter. Chittaphon just hoped that Youngho wouldn’t realize he was a fraud, and that he would still pay him afterwards.

There was a knock on the door at exactly nine, their arranged meeting time. Chittaphon opened the door to find a tall, stylish man with artfully messy dark brown hair. 

“Youngho,” he said, and extended a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Chittaphon said. “Call me Ten.”

When Chittaphon shook his hand, he smelled on Youngho the faint scent of coffee and expensive leather. He didn’t look older than Chittaphon by much, maybe four or five years at the most. But there was pain and sorrow etched into the premature wrinkles lining his face that made him look much older than a man in his late twenties.

Looking more closely, Chittaphon realized that it was more than just unhappiness. It was grief. He didn’t know how he knew it. But somehow Chittaphon recognized that grief was what had settled into Youngho’s laugh lines, and it was grief that weighed his shoulders down. Youngho was a rope, and his grief had pulled at him from both ends. It stretched him taut until he frayed.

Chittaphon invited Youngho inside. He almost failed to notice that there was someone else outside standing just behind Youngho. A shorter, slighter man with eyes that were sad in a slightly different way.

“Is that your husband?” Chittaphon asked.

“My husband’s dead,” Youngho said flatly without turning around.

He wouldn’t even look at the man who was standing at the door, whose mouth hanging a little bit open now. Like he was hurt. But man at the door didn’t say anything, and it filled Chittaphon with an inexplicable sadness.

“Who’s that, then?” Chittaphon demanded, grabbing Youngho by the arm and forcing him to look back at the door.

There wasn’t much color in Youngho’s face to begin with, but he looked even more sickly and sallow when his eyes fell on the man standing there. 

He swallowed, and then said in a timid voice, “Taeil?”

There was so much barely contained pain and hope in Youngho’s voice that it just about tore Chittaphon’s heart to shreds. Youngho took a step forward, and Chittaphon released his arm. 

Youngho froze, and something about the unnatural stiffness of his body made Chittaphon forget to breathe for a moment. 

“Where did he go?” Youngho asked in a frightened voice even though he was standing right in front of Taeil. “Why can’t I see him?” 

As bewildered and slightly terrified Chittaphon was, something in his intuition told him to touch Youngho again, and sure enough, when Chittaphon’s fingers grasped Youngho’s elbow, Youngho let out this choked little noise that sounded somewhere between a sob and a sigh of relief.

Youngho moved forward to hold onto Taeil, but Taeil shook his head sadly and stepped away, and Youngho let his fingers fall back down to his sides.

“Who is he?” Chittaphon asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt the moment between the two men.

It took a moment for Youngho to find his voice. Finally he said, “That’s Taeil, my husband. He after a car accident a long time ago, and I’ve been trying to speak to him ever since.”

Once they were all inside Chittaphon’s apartment, the two men and the ghost, Chittaphon tried to take a good look at Taeil. And then he realized that he couldn’t. It was like trying to look at him through a haze of smoke. His form was vague around the edges, like ripples from heat distortion. It was difficult to gather more than impressions of him.

Watching the two of them, Chittaphon understood why Youngho’s grief was so powerful. Why it was a grief that would not leave him. He saw the way that Youngho couldn’t stop looking at Taeil, even though Taeil couldn’t say anything. It was like Youngho was a sunflower and Taeil was the sun. Chittaphon had never seen anyone look at someone else with such love and longing.

It was strange to watch them, to see so many unsaid words and silent emotions pass through their gazes. It was especially strange because Chittaphon had to hold onto Youngho the entire time just so that he could see Taeil. Any time they broke contact, Taeil vanished from Youngho’s sight.

“So what happened?” Chittaphon asked eventually, because Youngho wanted his help, and Chittaphon wanted to help him.

Youngho looked like he had forgotten how to speak. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He chewed on his bottom lip, and then without looking away from Taeil, he said, “We met at a concert. I’m was a violinist in an orchestra, and Taeil was a singer. We were both musicians, so we understood each other. But he understood me even better than my other friends who were also musicians.”

Taeil nodded in encouragement. The corners of his mouth lifted up in the hint of a smile, but there was a permanent sadness in his eyes that wouldn’t go away, even when he was smiling. 

Youngho continued, “He loved me, and accepted me even though I had made many mistakes in the past. I had a son from a previous failed relationship, and Taeil even loved him too. I was so happy for two years, I couldn’t believe it.”

And then his expression clouded over, and Taeil looked at him with pain and pleading in his eyes. 

“We were returning home from a concert late at night. Our son was a neighbor’s house. It was rainy, and dark, and I….” Youngho’s voice broke, and he bit his lip, unable to speak. 

“It’s okay,” Chittaphon said quietly. “You don’t have to finish if it’s too painful.”

Youngho shook his head and let out a tiny sigh. Just a little exhale. 

“The worst part,” he said in a low, quavering voice, “was that the hospital wouldn’t let me visit him. Our marriage wasn’t legally recognized, so I wasn’t considered a family member. I wanted to be there with him. I wanted _someone_ to be with him in his final moments, but….”

Youngho looked down, and few tears fell on his lap. “I’m so sorry, Taeil. I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you. I’m sorry you had to be alone.”

Taeil smiled at him, but his lips were trembling like he was trying hard not to cry. If Chittaphon’s heart wasn’t broken before, it was shattered now.

“I miss you so much,” Youngho mumbled. “I love you, and I still can’t stop thinking about you. I wish I could be next to you. When can I hold your hand again?”

Taeil looked at him, and then he looked at Chittaphon and mouthed I’m sorry. Chittaphon didn’t understand why Taeil wasn’t looking at Youngho until his vision went black and his entire body went cold, like he had fallen into the frigid waters of the Arctic. 

Chittaphon felt his mouth move, but his voice was someone else’s. It was soft and musical, and he realized, when he felt his hands reach out for Youngho’s hands, that it was Taeil’s voice. 

“I love you too,” Taeil said, “but it’s time to let go.”

Youngho stared at him. It was Chittaphon’s hand holding onto his, but it was Taeil’s voice and Taeil’s expression. The sweet sad smile he had dreamed of seeing again for so long. It gripped his heart and made him forget how to breathe. 

“I tried to forget you,” Youngho said roughly. “I spent so much time trying to forget about you. But how could I?” 

“You don’t have to forget about me. Just don’t forget about your son,” Taeil said gently. “He still needs you.”

Youngho frowned and chewed on his lip again. “Minhyung is your son, too. We were raising him together.”

“And now Minhyung needs both of us to watch over him,” Taeil reminded him.

Taeil wiped away the tear streaks on Youngho’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“I know you were upset about me dying, but I’m fine. I promise.” Taeil smiled as if to prove it. “Don’t worry about me anymore. We’ll see each other soon.”

“I miss you so much,” Youngho whispered again.

“I know,” Taeil said sadly. “When we’re born again, let’s find each other and fall in love.”

He leaned in to kiss Youngho, and his lips felt soft and familiar on Youngho’s mouth. 

Chittaphon felt a strand of energy snap, and he knew that Taeil had reached his limit. The coldness faded away as Taeil released Chittaphon and disappeared from their world. Chittaphon leaned away from Youngho and saw a flicker of surprise in the older man’s eyes, followed by understanding and acceptance. 

“Thank you,” Youngho said. His eyes were red and watery, but he was wearing a smile that said everything that couldn’t be said with words.

It was the first time Chittaphon had seen him smile. Finally Chittaphon could see a sliver of the man Youngho had been before he was caught in a tornado of grief, the charming, confident man he had been before he lost Taeil.

Youngho nodded at Chittaphon, and left. He never heard from Youngho again after that. Chittaphon didn’t even hear him close the door.

Chittaphon didn’t know what to do with himself. He was still recovering from the bizarre, otherworldly experience when his phone started vibrating. The low buzzing filled him with apprehension, and Chittaphon was almost afraid to pick it up until he saw who was calling.

“What do you want, Donghyuck?” Chittaphon asked.

“Is this how you greet all your friends?” Donghyuck said, but he didn’t sound too offended.

Chittaphon chuckled. “Can I help you?”

“Um, can I ask you for a favor, Ten-hyung?”

It was the first time Chittaphon had ever referred to him with honorifics, and Chittaphon felt himself softening towards the younger boy. “Depends on what you need.”

“Can you invite me to a party tonight? Mark said that you went to a lot of parties, so I assumed that you were invited to a lot, and that you’d be able to help me get into one,” Donghyuck began rambling.

Chittaphon cut him off. “Is there a specific party you’re going to? And where’s Mark? Is he with you?”

“He told me that he was going to come over tonight, but then he canceled on me.”

“Why?” Chittaphon asked, unsure of whether or not he should be worried yet.

“His friend Jaehyun invited him to a party. I wasn’t invited, but I kind of wanted to go too….” Donghyuck trailed off, sounding small and lonely.

Chittaphon started to feel a little sorry for him. Was this how Mark felt when Chittaphon went to parties without him? He had always assumed that Mark didn’t want to go. 

“Come over, and I’ll take you. I think I know where they might be.”

Chittaphon could hear Donghyuck’s voice brighten. “Thanks hyung! I owe you one.”

It wasn’t completely out of sympathy for Donghyuck, of course. Chittaphon didn’t like the idea of Jaehyun taking Mark to a seedy frat party. He told himself that Mark’s parents had trusted him to take care of him and to keep him out of trouble. Which was hilarious, since Chittaphon could hardly keep himself out of trouble.

But he had to try, for Mark. 

  
  
  
  


“Hey, aren’t those your friends?” Jaehyun asked, gesturing over at a table in the corner of the frat basement where Donghyuck and Chittaphon were being handed drinks in red plastic cups. 

“Oh yeah, that’s Ten-hyung and my friend Donghyuck,” Mark said. 

“Aren’t you going to say hi to them?”

Mark shrugged. He really didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and he liked that Jaehyun picked up on that. It was nice sitting on the sofa with Jaehyun, who didn’t ask him too many questions, but still joked around now and then to cheer him up. 

They had hung out a few times after Mark asked for Jaehyun’s help on his homework. It turned out they had far more in common than expected, even considering their identical majors. 

And tonight, Mark felt like spending time with someone who understood him without having to explain anything. 

Over in the corner, a throng of girls was crowding around both Chittaphon and Donghyuck. He could tell that Chittaphon was trying to keep them at a distance, knocking away a few hands on his shoulders when some of the girls got too close. But Donghyuck was loving the attention, especially the older girls fawning over him. 

Mark heard Donghyuck’s boastful laughter from across the room, even over the loud background music. He chuckled under his breath. “Good for you, Donghyuck.”

“Hmm?” Jaehyun said absentmindedly.

“Nothing,” Mark said.

Jaehyun nodded, without looking away from the opposite corner of the room where a tall, thin man with flaming red-orange hair was talking to a couple of other guys. He had a shifty look about him, especially because he kept glancing over at Jaehyun before quickly breaking eye contact. Mark vaguely recalled Jaehyun introducing the man earlier as Doyoung.

“Hey Mark?” Jaehyun said lazily.

“What, hyung?”

“Would you mind making out with me?”

“What?!” Mark exclaimed with a nervous giggle.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have the hots for you or anything. I’m pretty sure Ten does, though.”

“Wait, what–”

“I just need to make out with you real quick so I can test out a theory.”

“Um, alright, if you say so….”

It was the first time Mark had kissed a guy, but it definitely wasn’t Jaehyun’s first time. Jaehyun threaded his fingers through Mark’s hair and kissed him deeply, his warm wet tongue slipping inside Mark’s mouth. Jaehyun tasted like gin, and he smelled like expensive cologne. Mark’s mind wandered during their kiss, and for a moment he found himself wondering what Chittaphon’s lips might taste like.

When Jaehyun pulled away, Mark wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and giggled, “Hyung, what the fuck! You used your tongue!”

“Thanks for being a good sport,” Jaehyun murmured, and he ruffled Mark’s hair fondly. 

Mark looked over at Chittaphon’s corner of the room and locked eyes with Chittaphon, who was staring at him with a strange, unreadable expression. He didn’t look disgusted, thank goodness, but he almost looked hurt. Mark didn’t want to think about what the kiss meant, what Chittaphon’s expression meant, what any of this meant. 

He looked over at Jaehyun, who had a triumphant smirk on his face as he watched Doyoung’s corner of the basement. Mark could tell even from this far that Doyoung was blushing. The tips of his ears were bright red, and he was trying very hard not to look back at Jaehyun. 

Mark wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant, either. 

Someone handed Mark a shot of something strong in a small paper Dixie cup. He drank it one gulp. There was a blissful rush of alcohol hitting his bloodstream, and then he felt sick. 

  
  
  
  


It seemed that almost every time Chittaphon checked on Mark, he would be gazing up at Jaehyun with fucking stars in his eyes. It made his stomach twist, but he kept looking at him, kept checking on Mark for some reason. Maybe Chittaphon kept doing it because sometimes he did things he knew would hurt. 

And then there was the fucking kiss. Chittaphon had just kissed a man earlier that day while being possessed by the ghost of the man’s husband, but somehow that didn’t feel as wrong as seeing Jaehyun kiss Mark. 

At least Donghyuck looked like he was having fun.

As he continued to sulk on his own, Chittaphon lost track of time until he felt Donghyuck tugging at his sleeve.

“Do you know where Mark went?” Donghyuck asked.

“Nope.” Chittaphon looked around, but he didn’t see Mark anywhere. “Did you try calling him?”

Donghyuck nodded and he said worriedly, “I called him a few times, but he didn’t answer.”

“Come on, let’s find Jaehyun. Maybe he’ll know where Mark is.”

They pushed through a crowd of shitfaced college students and found Jaehyun and Doyoung arguing outside on a balcony.

“Do you guys know where Mark went?” Chittaphon asked loudly, interrupting whatever impassioned conversation they seemed to be having.

Doyoung frowned at him, annoyed by the interruption. “Mark who?”

“I really don’t know,” Jaehyun said apologetically. “He told me he was leaving earlier, but I really don’t know where he went.”

Chittaphon felt panic closing around his windpipe. He thanked them and grabbed Donghyuck by the sleeve. 

“Let me walk you home,” he said gruffly to Donghyuck, “and then I’ll go look for Mark.”

“Do you need my help?” Donghyuck asked.

“It’s fine, it’s getting late. You should go to bed soon. I’ll find him. I promise.”

When they reached Donghyuck’s dorm building, Donghyuck gave Chittaphon a quick hug before going inside. 

For a moment Chittaphon stood outside under the orange glow of a streetlamp, breathing in the crisp, cold night air. He looked up at the stars, and then he started looking for Mark. 

Their apartment was the first, stupidly obvious place he looked. When he discovered that Mark wasn’t there, Chittaphon felt his anxiety resurface. He ran out into the street, which was eerily empty at this time of night. Chittaphon felt like screaming. He ran past rowhouses where he could smell the stench of alcohol from outside, and then he ran towards the buildings on campus.

As Chittaphon was running aimlessly, looking around for a sign of Mark, he kept calling Mark’s phone. And then it occurred to Chittaphon, why Mark might not be answering.

He changed direction and ran towards the old chemistry building, which had the lecture hall with no reception. Chittaphon hoped that he was right. He hoped that was the reason why Mark wasn’t answering his phone. 

Chittaphon’s heart clamored in his chest when he swiped into the building. He leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath. His heart was still beating furiously, and not just because he had just been running. He was getting more and more nervous by the second, and he dreaded finding an empty lecture hall. The feeling of worry crawled up into his throat and made it hard to breathe.

He yanked the door to the lecture hall open, and the sound of the slam echoed off the domed ceiling. 

Mark was sitting on the edge of the stage, and he looked up at the sudden noise. “Hyung? What are you doing here?”

“Thank god you’re okay,” Chittaphon said, and he ran over to Mark to hug him around the waist.

“Hey, hyung, I’m fine,” Mark said gently, running his fingers through Chittaphon’s hair. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

“Donghyuck and I both tried calling you, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh shit,” Mark muttered. “It’s a dead zone in here, I haven’t been receiving your calls. I’m so sorry. I’ll have to apologize to Donghyuck later, too.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you.”

Chittaphon looked up and noticed that Mark’s eyes were watery and the tip of his nose was red. “Mark, were you crying?”

Mark tried to look away and hide his face, but Chittaphon caught his chin with the tip of his finger. He made Mark look at him face-to-face.

“Are you upset? It’s not about me, is it?” 

Mark avoided his gaze.

“It’s not about you, don’t worry,” Mark mumbled down at his hands. “It’s stupid.”

“Trust me,” Chittaphon said, wrapping his arm around Mark’s shoulders. “Whatever you’re thinking about, I can think of something ten times stupider.”

Mark chuckled a little at that. Chittaphon felt the breath Mark took through the rise and fall of his shoulders.

Finally, Mark said, “Remember how I said I was adopted?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about my real parents lately. Today especially, for some reason. And I miss them.”

“Dude, I know it’s tough. It’s never easy to lose parents. Can’t imagine how you must feel right now.”

“The thing is, I can’t remember a thing about them,” Mark said with a bitter little laugh. “I only know how they looked because of a couple photographs, and I think I might remember how their voices sounded, but I might just be imagining that.”

At most, he could only remember warm, strong arms and vague impressions of being loved.

“It’s okay for you to miss them, even when you can’t remember them exactly. That’s not stupid it all.”

“You think so?” Mark said hesitantly.

Chittaphon nodded. He hesitated for a moment and then leaned in to kiss Mark’s cheek. It’s something they had done often as kids, before becoming self-conscious about how they expressed their affection for each other. But it felt natural now. And Chittaphon liked the way Mark’s cheeks glowed pink afterwards.

“When you said your ‘real’ parents, did you mean your birth mom and your birth dad?” Chittaphon asked. 

Mark looked conflicted for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Like I said, it was complicated. My biological mom left my dad after I was born. And then my dad met a guy. They were never married officially since it wasn’t legal yet, but they….”

He trailed off, unable to find the right words. 

“They loved each other?” Chittaphon suggested.

“Something like that, yeah.” Mark was anxiously watching Chittaphon’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“They loved you too, Mark,” Chittaphon said, a little absently. His mind was somewhere else at the moment, trying to pin the strange feeling of déja vu overcoming him. He felt like he had heard this story before. “Do you remember what the man’s name was? Your dad’s partner?”

Mark’s face scrunched cutely as he tried to remember. “William? No, that’s not right. His name was Taeil.”

Chittaphon’s first reaction was to burst out laughing. “Where did William come from? That’s so random!”

“No, no, no, listen,” Mark laughed. “I tried to call him Ilie-hyung, but it always came out as William. It was stupid, and my dad liked it, so his name turned into William.”

“That’s funny. You said his name was Taeil?” A nod from Mark. “What was your dad’s name?”

“Youngho,” Mark answered. “It's been weird lately, I almost feel like I can remember them better. Like a lot of what I’ve forgotten is coming back.”

Chittaphon didn't have an answer to that. His body went cold and then hot when he remembered why the names Youngho and Taeil sounded so familiar. Youngho, Taeil, and their son–

“Minhyung?” Chittaphon said. 

“Yeah?” Mark answered. He saw the stricken look on Chittaphon’s face and asked, “What's the matter, hyung? Are you alright?”

“Nothing,” Chittaphon said quickly, shaking his head a little to clear his mind. “How was the party tonight?”

“It was okay.” Mark shrugged. “Pretty boring. Didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, because I was thinking about my parents all night. But Jaehyun was really nice.”

“Do you like Jaehyun?” 

“Yeah! We have so much in common, it’s like he’s my other half–” Mark stopped when he saw Chittaphon’s pained expression. “Why, do you not like him?” 

Chittaphon was never good at hiding his feelings.

He couldn’t help thinking about the way Mark lit up when he was talking to Jaehyun, the way that Jaehyun’s lips fit against Mark’s mouth…. But somehow, those things didn’t matter because right now Mark was watching Chittaphon like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. The only thing that ever mattered.

An ache that was never really not there suddenly became sharp in Chittaphon’s chest, and he looked away from Mark. 

“Hyung,” Mark said softly. “Do you like me?”

The way Mark said “like” made it clear that he meant it differently than the way he used the word before. And Chittaphon did not want to talk about it right now. He would do anything to talk about anything else, that’s how much he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yeah,” Chittaphon finally choked out. It felt like swallowing knives. “I do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I like you too, hyung.”

It took a second for Chittaphon’s brain to catch up. By the time the words finally sank in, Mark was tilting Chittaphon’s chin up with a fingertip to kiss him. Mark’s lips were soft and warm, and all Chittaphon could hear for a few heart racing moments was the gentle stick of their mouths and his own pulse beating in his veins. It was exactly how a first kiss should have gone. 

Mark’s eyes traced Chittaphon’s face, like he was trying to take in all of him at once, but couldn’t. His gaze flicked from Chittaphon’s eyes down to his mouth, and then up to a scar near Chittaphon’s temple. He touched the scar gently with the pad of his thumb, feeling the narrow indentation on his skin.

“This scar wasn’t always here, was it?” Mark asked softly.

“No, I only got it a couple years ago,” Chittaphon said, self-consciously reaching up to touch the scar.

“What happened? How did you get it?”

Chittaphon flushed in embarrassment. “Ah, it’s really not a cool story. I got it in a fight.”

“No way, hyung!” Mark exclaimed, looking impressed. “What was the fight about?”

Chittaphon squirmed, clearly reluctant to tell the story. “There was this girl,” he said.

Mark nodded knowingly. “There’s always a girl.”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Chittaphon said. “The girl said something I thought was funny, so I repeated it. But she thought I was making fun of her, so she slapped me. One of her rings scratched my skin, and I ended up with a scar.”

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you got that scar from being bitch slapped by a girl?” Mark giggled.

“It sounds so uncool when you put it that way,” Chittaphon whined, feeling his face go hot all over. He buried his face in hands. “Contrary to popular belief, I actually do have pride, you know.”

Mark kissed him on the cheek and said, “You’re so cute–I mean, cool. I love you, hyung.” 

Before Chittaphon could respond, the door slammed open for the second time that night. It was Doyoung, with Jaehyun clinging tightly to his waist. Their slick red lips and messy hair made no secret of what they had been doing probably just a few moments before.

“I thought you said this place would be empty!” Doyoung hissed.

“We were just on our way out, weren’t we hyung?” Mark said, elbowing Chittaphon in the ribs.

“Uh, yeah,” Chittaphon agreed, and he followed Mark to the exit, their pinky fingers hooked together.

“Hello, I’m Jaehyun, the love of Doyoung’s life,” Jaehyun said happily to Mark and Chittaphon as they passed by. 

“My current boyfriend,” Doyoung corrected. “Are you going to keep introducing yourself as the love of my life?”

“Until I can introduce myself as your husband,” Jaehyun said as a dopey grin.

The door shut behind them, and Chittaphon and Mark could hear the muffled sounds of Jaehyun trying to flirt with Doyoung all the way down the hallway. They didn’t stop giggling until they were outside, where it was so chilly their laughter could be seen in opaque puffs of steam.

The air was cold, but their mouths were warm when they kissed each other under soft white moonlight. It felt like a perfect night to be in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo i guess ten’s first kiss with a dude was technically his boyfriend’s dead dad. lmao johnten rise (from the dead)
> 
> but we’re not going to think about that too much °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!! hope you enjoyed it <3


End file.
